


rotten tongue

by ZOMBIEDOG



Series: SELF-INDULGENT [10]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Other, literally this will be my 69th fic which is fucking hilarious, zombie john is hot yall are just cowards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 13:22:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20874899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZOMBIEDOG/pseuds/ZOMBIEDOG
Summary: John Marston is dead. This is fact. You’d known him most of your life and even lived in domestic bliss with him on his farm, but good things are never owed to the likes of you. He is dead and you buried him yourself on the same ranch he’d built and loved. Undeniably, he is dead.





	rotten tongue

John Marston is dead. This is fact. You’d known him most of your life and even lived in domestic bliss with him on his farm, but good things are never owed to the likes of you. He is dead and you buried him yourself on the same ranch he’d built and loved. Undeniably, he is dead.

It hurts to continue living on the ranch, to see his grave every time you exit through that door and look under that tree, but its the only stable home you’ve known. It hurts but its bearable, to know in a way he’s still here with you, that he died to protect the life you’d been lucky enough to share with him.

There is no way in hell John Marston should be standing before you, but when the rain seems to almost scream as it crashes against the earth, he stands on that porch in the same clothes you buried him in. The very man who took your heart to his grave stumbles over weathered wood and reaches out a hand (a rotting hand) to grasp at you.

He speaks with a rotten tongue in a language not meant for the likes of you. Those warm brown eyes that always filled you with ease and comfort now looked at you with an emptiness that almost seemed to burn. This thing wore John’s face, but it wasn’t him, not truly.

Your John was gone, the man you loved and devoted yourself to no longer existed, not truly, and this thing standing before you was a tainted and rotting reminder of what was and what could’ve been.

John Marston was dead and this rotting creature was nothing more than a nightmare, but it had his face and that was reason enough to pause. He was dead, and soon you would be too.


End file.
